


I can feel (wish I couldn't feel at all)

by xephyr



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Denial, Drug Use, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s), Precursors, questionable state of mind, this fic will not make you feel warm and fuzzy inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xephyr/pseuds/xephyr
Summary: Newt doesn't feel quite like himself lately. If he's picked up any morally unsound habits to cope with it in the past decade, well, that's no one's business but his own.The flight to the Moyulan Shatterdome stretches on for too long and Newt finds himself desperately needing a moment (or fifteen) to himself.





	I can feel (wish I couldn't feel at all)

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by a joke tweet (https://twitter.com/ethiobirb/status/990301473853591552) and well. I really went for it.

It still wigs him out sometimes that he doesn't fly coach or economy or even first class anymore. No, Shao carts him around in private fucking jets. No TSA line, no airports, nothing. Best of all, he actually has leg room. Yeah, alright, he's not the tallest person in the world, but even when you're not six feet tall you still feel cramped up in those tiny little airplane seats. He hasn't had to worry about being seated next to a crying baby in nearly ten years now and for that alone, he's truly thankful to be with Shao Industries.

It's not just him on this flight, of course. Liwen Shao herself is there on the other side of the runway along with her frankly excessive personal collection of bodyguards, looking over the company's finances (probably) on her laptop as her guards busy themselves with a simple card game on the table. And, ok, Mako is there too, sitting across from him in her own cushy seat, fully invested in whatever she’s reading on her tablet. She had flown over to Shanghai to discuss logistics and politics and whatnot with Liwen and her council, something Newt had been aware of but not directly involved in, and was finally returning to the Moyulan Shatterdome.

Mako, who looks at him too intently no matter how briefly the moment lasts. She never says anything to him directly even though he knows, he _knows_ that she knows something. She never needles him about his now completely nonexistent relationship with Hermann, never harasses him over how quickly he left the PPDC for Shao, and never remarks on how much more volatile and unpredictable his moods are. She doesn't have to because she just looks at him with those big soulful eyes that reveal nothing except a profound sadness and it makes him want to scream. He very purposefully does not look at her as he fidgets with his cufflinks, trying his best to keep any unwanted agitation at bay.

She’s not why he’s been feeling like this lately, though. Well, she’s part of the reason why he’s been anxious, but it’s obviously not the big reason.

The big reason? That’s because of work, right? Yeah, obviously. The stress of work and strict deadlines have been getting to him. That, and the sky's the wrong color and he sometimes feels like he doesn’t have enough bones. But it’s mostly work.

He glances at the digital display on the wall dividing the pilots from the passengers for time until touchdown. He’s got twenty-eight minutes. He doesn’t waste time considering it when he’s already unbuckling his seatbelt and standing, feeling the stretch in his legs as he makes the short journey to the jet’s lavatory.

The lavatory is twice the size of a normal plane lavatory which doesn't sound like much but it really feels like the whole world when you're actually in there. Most notably is the small countertop by the sink, which he fully intends to utilize. His hands shake as they reach around for the vial he has in one of the inner pockets of his unbelievably expensive maroon suit jacket. Hey, Shao pays him _well_ , and Liwen had told him to stop dressing like a slob (her exact words) and it had sort of escalated from there. She'd never explicitly said to spend thousands of dollars on fancy suits and dress shoes and collar chains, but she never dissuaded him from it, either. If he looks good, she looks good. That's how it works.

Another thing his exorbitant amount of money can buy, of course, are very fancy designer drugs. The one he has with him now-- his favorite-- is kaiju bone powder. He uncorks the pretentious crystal vial and lets some of its contents spill onto the counter. Just seeing the fine grain in contrast with the sleek steel of the countertop makes him feel more at ease, and he allows himself a private smile.

He never would have dreamed of going into this territory ten years ago, especially after meeting Hannibal Chau and his crew, but after a certain point it had just been inevitable. I mean, right? He'd tried some in Manila after a big corporate work event in a hotel with some rich jackass he’d fucked that looked too much like Hermann and the guy had smiled at him, telling him about how potent and mind-blowing this shit was. Hermann didn't smile at him ever, even once (maybe once), and he’d absolutely never say something as undignified as _shit_. Because of this, he found himself throwing caution to the wind, which had historically never gone over well for him. This douche couldn’t hurt him the way Hermann did and he couldn’t devastate this guy the way he had Hermann, so he really didn't have anything to lose. So, post-coital at 3:42am in a penthouse in Manila and fifty floors from the ground, he let himself try something new. It must have worked out for him, because now _he_ was the rich jackass. Or, something like that.

He has no real technique for this so he just uses a hand to press on his nostril and bends down, inhaling the fine powder through his nose as deep as he can. He lets his forehead rest on the cool countertop as he exhales shakily, waiting for it to kick in. For a wild second he misses Tendo because he probably would have loved this shit. It never took more than ten seconds and sure enough, eight seconds later, he feels his veins coursing with hot, electrified blood. His eyes roll back into his head as he feels his dick immediately spring to life because that happens when he does this, and he's already fumbling with the zipper on his $850 specially tailored pants. He knows he doesn't have a lot of time, but he needs this. He trembles and he feels like he's too big for his own head, feeling the stars align in his body and centering him as he takes himself in his hand.

He has to bite his lip to stifle a groan because the powder makes his hand feel _so_ good and makes it feel like this is the first time he's ever touched himself in his life. It's always intense, sometimes to the point where he can't stop himself from crying, but he finds that he can't get off any other way. He's tried, sure, but it never feels right unless it's like this. Nothing really feels right unless he's like this. And God, does he feel _right_ right now. He squeezes himself harder on the upstroke the way he's always liked it and as he feels the cool solid metal of his Elvis ring slide along the underside of his cock he takes a moment to be thankful for Them. If They didn't exist, then the kaiju wouldn't exist, then he wouldn't be able to relish in the sweet burn of kaiju bone powder up his nose and that would fucking suck, right? He grips onto the edge of the counter with his free hand until his knuckles turn white and he feels his whole body tremble. No, it sucks that they exist. It fucking _sucks_ that the kaiju exist. People _died_ , you jackass.

The thoughts don't deter him, though. If anything, for some sick reason, they just spurn him on. He knows in the back of his mind that he doesn't have much time left and the longer he spends in here the more he runs the risk of attracting Liwen’s suspicion, and he can't have that happen. Not over this, especially. Shao lets him get away with a lot as the head of research, but he shouldn't needlessly test how far his leash runs. It's a fancy leash, sure, made of mulberry silk and studded with diamonds, but if he makes the wrong move it'll be pulled a lot shorter and he needs it to be loose for what They need to do. He fucks into his fist in earnest now at the thought of Liwen cruelly twisting his imaginary leash and choking off the air in his lungs, both feeling and hearing the whine from the back of his throat. It's already so much and he knows he's not going to last long, but that's the point.

He needs to take the edge off of this, because he's more scared of seeing Hermann again than he wants to admit. It's just another thing on his seemingly never-ending list of anxieties but it's hitting him harder than he thought. He almost laughs as he wonders what Hermann would think if he saw him right now but it doesn't _matter_ because Hermann _hates_ him. He'd stopped answering his emails years ago because he didn't know what to say to him anymore after he met Alice and it took Hermann a long time to finally catch on and stop trying to contact him. He knows Hermann hates him, and he doesn't care. Actually yeah, he does care. He cares a fucking lot, actually--

Alright, fine, he needs another bump because he can feel his erection flagging. It's necessary at this point. He tips out more of the substance, just enough to get him by and to _focus_ , and he snorts it without any semblance of patience. It's not as smooth as the first hit, but it doesn't matter at this point. He screws his eyes shut and he sees _blue_ , and his hand feels like the best goddamn thing in the world and if he doesn't cum in the next few seconds he's sure that he's going to die. He'll die, and it'll be the shittiest death ever. An image of Slattern appears behind his eyelids from when it first emerged from the breach, awe-inspiring and majestic and _huge_ , and-- terrible. It was fucking _awful_. He thinks about Hermann and he can remember how his wide mouth would quirk downwards as he spoke to him as if he constantly disapproved with everything Newt was doing (he did) and that one night where he didn't scowl at him at all and touched him as if he loved him (he did) and all he sees is blue again, a blue as radiant and beautiful as kaiju blood, and he finally loses it.

His blood is still running hot as he comes down from his release, but he feels steadier on his feet than he had earlier and he doesn't feel like he's going insane anymore. Well, that's pushing it, but he feels more in control of his insanity than he has in quite a few hours. He cleans up methodically with newly steady hands, wiping off any evidence of any of this with the high-quality toilet paper Shao keeps these jets stocked with. It's nicer than the shit they had at the PPDC by a long shot but it doesn't matter anymore because that's not who he is anymore. That's what he has to keep telling himself.

His eyes look up to meet his reflection in the mirror, and he pushes back any loose strands of hair from his face until he looks polished and impeccable again. He adjusts his tie and smirks at his slightly bloodshot eyes in the reflection because hey, it's kind of funny. It's not too noticeable, and it's nothing he can't just write off as lack of sleep from his heavy workload. Still, he pulls his sunglasses out of his front coat pocket and slides them on his face in order to look more presentable. That, and the orange lens tint the sky until it finally looks right.

If he looks out at the clouds right now, he could swear he was Home.

He checks his watch for the first time since he came in here. Touchdown in five minutes. After giving himself a once-over in the mirror for good measure, he leaves the fancy lavatory and makes his way back to his seat across from Mako. Her eyes flit up to meet his, obscured slightly behind the sunglasses, and Newt doesn't miss how loaded the glance is. He doesn't worry about it, anyhow. It's not like it's going to matter soon, right?

Instead, he makes himself smile back at her in that way that hurts his teeth. She furrows her brows almost imperceptibly as she resolutely looks away from him to observe the display on her handheld tablet and Newt feels like he's won. He _has_ won, and he will continue to win. _They_ will win, and he'll be there with Them until the very end.

And then no one will be able to hurt him anymore.


End file.
